Yorkshire, the land of rolling hills, is always a lovely place to visit and luckily we have friends who live there, so we like to go as often as possible and enjoy their hospitality.

Enter Sandy, my trusty sidekick. I left the cycle route planning to him as I usually do when we visit. However, Sandy’s approach to planning is akin to a squirrel on a caffeine high. His idea of a well thought out strategy is, “I’ll stop for a coffee somewhere.” The actual route? A mere afterthought. It’s like he’s channelling Dug from Up: “Squirrel!” And off he goes, abandoning all previous plans in pursuit of that elusive espresso.

So off we go, armed with our rough plan (which, by Sandy’s standards, was practically a PhD thesis). We pedalled through picturesque villages, up and down what in Yorkshire terms were just bumps in the road until we reached Holmfirth and that much needed espresso.

Sitting on a small bench outside the coffee shop I was approached by a family group from Northern Ireland asking if I would kindly take a picture of them. Picture taken, we got into a great conversation with them. I think we managed to solve most of the issues currently hanging over the world. But that’s a story for another day.

Next section was the hilly bit, Sandy informed me. Which delighted me no end. I was getting fed up with these flat roads! Out of Holmfirth and straight on to a hill. Sandy informing me that this was “only steep for a short time, maybe half a kilometre”. Four kilometres later, the gradient would ease off just a little and I caught up to Sandy who had stopped at the side of the road. It’s now that he informs me that we should have taken the right turn about 2 kilometres ago, but it’s OK, there’s another right turn at the top of the hill….another kilometre or so away. I cursed him through clenched teeth and panting breath.

Thankfully, it was mostly downhill now into Slaithwaite (pronounced Sla-wit…I know, don’t ask), where we stopped for another espresso. This time we added a cake to the mix. I think we deserved it, at least I know I did.

But the adventure wasn’t over. The route home from Slaithwaite isn’t exactly filled with postcard panoramas just mostly a non-desript road flanked by suburban houses and car wash stations. Despite this, it’s here that the day took a stranger turn. Sandy needed to stop and check his brakes which allowed Barry, the Village Crazy, to try and engage us in conversation. Something about beer cans and bikes weighing the same. Nope, I didn’t get it either. Anyway, off we rode before he really got started.

And so, with our Strava uploads complete (because if it’s not on Strava, did it even happen?), we cracked open a well-deserved beer. Yorkshire, you’ve been a wild ride. Sandy, what’s next? Whatever it is, I’m in. Just keep the espresso flowing and the crazy villagers at bay.